


Dreamers In The Attic

by fouryearslater (CheshireCatLife)



Series: Tales Of Love, Family and Loss II [One Shots] [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Child Abuse, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possibly Even A Shrek Reference, Rapunzel Elements, Warlock Alec Lightwood, Warlock Magnus Bane, a quickly accelerating plot, and I just don't have time for that, because I'm like that - Freeform, because otherwise this would be an epic, but expect everything else, so don't expect realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23120674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCatLife/pseuds/fouryearslater
Summary: Alec believes he needs to be in this room, unable to leave. Unable to ever step a foot outside.He could, if he wanted to. But he doesn't. Because he needs this. He needs this to stay safe.Or so he keeps telling himself.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: Tales Of Love, Family and Loss II [One Shots] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661071
Comments: 23
Kudos: 156





	1. Alexander

**Author's Note:**

> This is cliche and self-indulgent but I think I'll bring something new to this trope so hope you enjoy :D

Sometimes Alec wonders if they like his screams, whether the endless cries of agony are somewhat pleasing to them. It would make the situation feel sane, almost; in the most guarded parts of his heart, he thinks it might even be true. But he won’t ever say that aloud, not for fear of the torment that can inflict on his young body.

Alec Lightwood is twelve-years-old, and he is the product of rape. A demon rape. He is half-angel, half-demon and some mundane mixed in both. He’s the second of his kind, though he has never met the first. Tessa Gray is a name he’s only ever seen in books, and each time he wishes to know this great woman. The Shadowhunter books are scathing or her place but every now and then, when he can, he finds books written by warlocks and reads about all the amazing things she has accomplished. His favourite, to date, is the story of the Clockwork Angel.

He wishes to be a hero like that one day.

Unlike Tessa Gray, although even her history is still murky, they do not know how Alec survived. Unlike the many other stillbirths when the child is of mixed blood, Alec awoke screaming. They’d thought it meant he was his fathers. They looked similar enough; not perfectly, but enough.

Then his warlock mark has appeared.

Yet another difference from Tessa Gray to add to the list.

But, he still isn’t any other warlock. His powers are specific, as much as his mark is changeable. Sometimes his eyes change in colour, flickering between a vibrant blue, a dull brown and a terrifyingly blank white. At his darkest moments, they’d even turned black. Some days, his nails turn to claws. Others, his skin turns to scales. But ever permanent are the wings on his back, a gleaming white as bright as an angel’s. The feathers are from heaven itself, fluffy and light, impossibly soft to the touch. Izzy likes to call them her teddy bear, for how much she enjoys wrapping them in her tiny arms.

His parents do not agree.

Each month, they rip them off, tearing with knives and scalpels and lighters. They watch his flesh burn and char, turning a dirty black as the feathers remain untouched, gleaming white on his back. When they are touched violently, they even seem to radiate gold, sheer power boiling in the vacant white mass.

His powers, no matter how specific, seem intent on protecting them. They won’t protect anything else. His skin is scarred and tormented, worse than any adult Shadowhunter he’s ever seen. It’s not free from runes, either. They’d pushed forward his rune ceremony by a few years to see if it would burn the demon blood out of him. It didn’t. But they held anyway. His parents still didn’t think it was enough.

They wouldn’t be happy until Alec could no longer fly; could no longer shift from one spot to another with no portal at all; could no longer heal others with caring and gentle hands. They would no stop until there was no sign of his demonic heritage at all.

Family respectability and all that.

Today is his twelfth-birthday and to mark the occasion, they’re making another attempt to remove his wings. He’s been lain out prostrate on his bed, wings spread out around him. The double bed takes centre-stage in the room, leaving room for the slowly growing wings to drape over the side of the bed. Alec wonders if there’ll be a time when they can reach the floor when laying like this. If they stay long enough for him to try, he adds.

His room has always been dark, but it’s darker today. The red curtains have been thrown shut, hiding him from prying eyes. The moonlight still drags its way through the gaps, illuminating the shadows with angel light. There’s only one witchlight lit, laying steady on his bedside table, next to the stack of textbooks. There are no other knick-knacks to be seen. Only educational books; to make him the best _Shadowhunter_ he can be.

Izzy has everything she wants; clothes, makeup, weapons. Alec has nothing, just the wings on his back that they’re trying so hard to remove. On days like these, he hates them. Hates everything they stand for. The gleaming white is like heaven’s taunt. He’s a demon wearing an angel’s wings, constantly faced with something he can never hope to be.

They’ve removed his top and he’s cradled his head in the backs of his hands, his fingers linked together, ready to distract him from the endless pain in his back. His marks are fully on show, covering every inch of his skin. Medicine, they call it, to drive away the demonic urges. He wonders what they are. He wonders how his thoughts differ from everyone else’s. Because they must, mustn’t they. He’s shut down every bad thought he’s had but he still has them. No one else has ever told him they have bad thoughts; that must just be him, then. That’s something.

“Are you ready, Alec?” His mother murmurs, running her gentle hands through his hair. The soft touch relaxes him and he nods carefully, his fingers already tightening until they’re white. “Alec?” She repeats. He always has to say this aloud. “I am,” he whispers hoarsely, spotting his dad out of the corner of his eye. So both of them are here today. What an occasion.

His mother takes a step back for a moment, gripping a stele in her hand. Then she brings it down to his shoulder blade and starts to _cut_.

~*~

Light shines down on him, bright and unyielding. In the morning, it shines almost white into his attic room, decorate with a single bed and a dresser. The dusty wood has been untouched until Alec came up here, just after his sixteenth birthday. He has stopped being able to hide his wings. He could glamour them, but the room they took up was too noticeable; it was tripping people up at best and flinging people at walls at worst (although, he would admit, that wasn’t always an accident). Now, it’s spotless, but the signs of age are still relentless; everything from the cracks in the walls to the quiet scurrying of unseen creatures show both age and lack of care.

No one knows this room exists. His parents had found it on their search for an answer. The basement had come first, but that was used for weapon storage and holding cells. The top of the Institute was next but it constituted only of the greenhouse, which wouldn’t do either. Until they’d found that the turret at the front had a single room at the top. No door, just a trapdoor with no ladder to bring you up. But Alec didn’t need a ladder; he just needed to think.

So, at sixteen-years-old, Alec had died in a demon attack. Consequently, he was sent to live in the attic. Death is funny like that.

Everyone but his parents think he is dead. They bring him food out of some subtle guilt for placing their own son in prison. Too weak to kill him, he thinks, and too weak to let him live like everyone else.

But he doesn’t think of them as cowards. He understands their logic, in a fucked-up, sensible kind of way. No way would he ever be accepted as a Shadowhunter. And no way would he want to be a part of the warlocks, half demonic as they were. He was in-between and that meant he was special, different. And sometimes different just meant you had to hide. Otherwise, people would come after him.

This was for his protection. It was.

He groans as he wakes, rubbing at his eyes. He revels in the light he has. He only gets the early morning light. Past ten o'clock, the large window loses the sun and he is left in the chilling grey of the rest of the day. It’s at this time that he likes to do his exercise, in some melancholy hope that he might one day be allowed to fight the demons he’s been trained to fight. Maybe then he might be able to prove to himself that he isn’t a demon himself.

Right now, he doesn’t think he can.

Instead, he stretches, folding himself over so he’s touching his feet as the summer sun beats down on his back. He can’t open the window; he hasn’t felt fresh air in two years, so instead, he revels in the sweat on his back. Sweat means freedom, if only for a few minutes. Every morning, his parents lock their bathroom door and let him teleport inside, use their shower and then return to his room. There’s no window in their either, but there is a mirror. It helps him track the years.

He doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been. He hasn’t been bothered to count. But he knows he’s eighteen; his parents had sent him up a cake on his birthday, which was probably a few months back. It’s summer too, which helps him try and keep to the right date. Not that it’s really necessary, he just likes routine.

He goes through the same routine every day. Wake up, exercise, eat, proper training (as much as is possible) eat, stare out at New York, sleep. He likes it that way. The training keeps him from losing his mind, even if staring at the vista reminds him of the mind-numbing depression that seeps into his brain, the slowly creeping madness of cabin fever. The sunlight makes him forget about the gloominess to come. He counts his blessings every day. Thinks how lucky he is compared to some people.

And then, at the end of the day, he lets the bad thoughts flood in. It’s just how his days are. It’s how his days are always going to be.


	2. Magnus

Magnus is a man of decadence. He luxuriates in the finer things in life, from centuries-old wine to the most up to date technology the world currently has on offer. He bought his bed in the 1800s, though the mattress is brand new, and he can’t help but revel in the red silk sheets as his body sinks into the memory foam. Decadence has certainly not made getting up any easier.

The light blazes through the shuttered blinds, leaving violent lines of gold on his body. It must be nearly midday by now which means…well, it means nothing. His schedule is empty for the day. It’s a Sunday, after all, and he’s always rather enjoyed making it his day off. There are things to catch up on, of course, but as he wraps himself in silk, he finds he doesn’t particularly care, nor does he have the inclination to do anything about it.

Today is a day for himself, and no one’s going to take that away from him.

It takes him half an hour to peel himself out of bed, another hour to shower and take care of his daily routine. He’s not planning on the leaving the house today, but that makes it the perfect day to experiment, test out a few of his more outrageous looks to see whether they work. Of course, they do (it’s him, all his fashion ideas are marvellous). Then, he finally has a bite to eat, stealing a platter of lunch tapas from a restaurant in Spain that he used to frequent back when he lived in Madrid. All in all, it’s a perfect day. The sun is blazing and hot yet his apartment is not sticky with heat but rather cool with the magically enhanced breeze circulating throughout the spacious loft.

At three o’clock, he sits down in front of his TV - an ostentatiously large flat screen with every channel you can hope to find, international ones included - and puts his feet up on the coffee table. Wiggling his feet, he admires his own handiwork on his feet. The nails are neon orange, and stand out perfectly from his bronze skin. Of course, he’s just about to give his fingers the same avid inspection when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t think much of it; plenty of people message him, and most of them do not need urgent replies. However, Magnus has always liked to reply quickly (or purposefully, disastrously late if the situation calls for it), meaning he picks his phone up the moment it goes off and scans the message.

He resists the urge to groan, instead wincing as he swipes his phone open and reads the message in more detail. _Warlock Bane, the Clave has requested you arrive at the New York Institute at four o’clock on July 11th in order to update the wards. Payment will be as usual. The Lightwoods, Heads of the New York Institute._

Pretentious, old fashioned and presumptuous; it’s everything he knows about Shadowhunters epitomised into one text message. He looks at the clock: fifty-five minutes. Of course they wouldn’t give any real warning, only a message to tell him - if he dares to complain - that they did inform him. He’s even been accused before of faking the time stamp.

Shadowhunters really are a lovely bunch.

He draws in a sharp breath and heads back into his bedroom; guess he’s going to have to redress.

~*~

He arrives at the Institute with minutes to spare, yet the attendant still manages to look at him like he’s been waiting for hours. His lips are pursed, like another sharp line to the already looming, gothic structure of the Institute itself. Magnus has always been aware of its beauty as much as its danger. It’s a representation of oppression, yet it is undeniably gorgeous, a piece stuck in time.

He walks in with his head held high, letting his eyes roam over the endless tapestries on the wall. When he doesn’t recognise the story, he entertains himself by making up some outrageous backstory. Because, really, that man next to the angel, definitely screwing his sister. You could see it in his _face._ Just look at him!

The corridors are winding and seemingly endless but eventually, the attendant leaves him a large communal room where Maryse Lightwood is waiting, black hair tucked into a sharp bun, a modest dress downplaying her beauty. Magnus never likes to admire her but he can’t help but admit that the Lightwood genes hold something angelic in them; their beauty stands testament.

“Warlock Bane.”

“Maryse.” She winces; Magnus doesn’t care.

“I assume you know what to do.” Magnus just nods, willing this conversation to end as quickly as it started. Luckily for him, Maryse doesn’t like the Downworlders to linger in her presence (wouldn’t want to be tainted, would she) and she sends him off with a wave.

The job is mundane, long and arduous. Nothing’s wrong with the wards anyway, it’s just a routine checkup; a way to ruin a perfectly good Sunday. He starts in the basement and works his way upwards and by the time the clock strikes six, he thinks he’s done. Sending a powerful shock of magic out, he checks to see gaps and notices…another magical presence. A shining gold shimmer like another star in the sky, so bright it almost hurts. The gold clashes with his blue and he can feel the resistance, the fear, the-

He doesn’t step down from the challenge.

He doesn’t know where he’s going but he has a good sense of direction and eventually he finds himself climbing a narrow set of stairs, spiralling up into the sky. Every now and then they’ll stop on a small landing, a looming door presumably to enter unknown and forgotten rooms.

He knows he hasn’t found it yet.

He keeps climbing, ignoring the pounding of his heart, or the burn in his legs. His lungs are starting to struggle but he keeps going. If there is anyone up here, he wonders how they’re even alive. Presumably, no one is going to climb these steps every day to give him food. But, maybe, if he has a magical presence, he can conjure food. But why would they be locked away at all…

Magnus continues to climb. Up and up and up until the stairs finally cut off, the stone staircase leading to a dangerous fall downwards. There are no railings but that’s not a surprise, it looks like it was built sometime before Magnus was even born.

There’s no door here, he realises, yet the presence is near. He can feel it, like a beating heart in his own chest. It beats to his rhythm, over and over and over-

He looks up. There’s a wooden square, a trapped door, and Magnus knows what he needs to do. Sending a spark of magic upwards, he sends the door flying open and conjures a ladder from Ragnor’s home in England (Ragnor owes him, even if the stealing may not be entirely consensual) and starts to climb. It feels like a long way up but within seconds, his eyes are taking in the room: dusty, deprived and forgotten, it’s like a nightmarish prison cell from a bad fantasy novel.

There’s a stare of startling blue eyes boring into his own.

“Hello,” Magnus supplies cheerfully, climbing up the last few rungs and standing in front of the boy, who’s sitting on the bed, knees pulled up to his chest like he was just-

Oh god, are those tears? Magnus isn’t good with tears. And definitely not those of a pretty boy. “Well, at least you’re not a fox in a dressing gown,” he tries to joke. It’s met by a blank stare. Of course, this boy has probably never seen a film, never mind understand his niche references. “Shrek?” He tries anyway. Another blank stare.

“Who are you?” The boy mutters, blue eyes sparkling dangerously. More than ever, Magnus is aware that this boy is still a Shadowhunter. Runes scar his skin, marring parts of the boy he hasn’t seen mutilated by their angelic race before. They cover him, turning his pale skin mostly black. Then, Magnus notes, that he’s definitely not only a Shadowhunter.

A pair of wings protrude from the boy’s back, a gleaming white. The evening sun doesn’t hit this room but there’s enough daylight out there to catch glimpses of the feathers. Magnus wishes for a moment that there were any other lights in here. There’s a lamp, but when he clicks his fingers it doesn’t light up. Like everything else, it’s so long out of use that it’s useless.

“Magnus Bane. High Warlock of Brooklyn. My job is to save pretty boys from towers. See it as a sort of…Rapunzel-esque profession. I’m handsome and powerful, so why not save a few people whilst I look so pretty.”

“I don’t need to be saved,” the boy says immediately. Great.

“It really seems you do. After all, this room is _dismal_. And I mean truly dismal. I mean, I’m pretty sure I can hear rats.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re making it really hard to be Prince Charming here.”

“I don’t need saving,” the boy repeats, his blue eyes blazing determinedly. It hits Magnus then; the resemblance, the stubbornness, the bright shade of blue. “You’re a Lightwood.”

“What’s it to you?”

“Well, I didn’t think a boy locked in a tower would have any relation to one of the most powerful couples in Idris.”

“I’m my mother’s son.”

“Yet not your father’s,” Magnus digs. He’s curious, _sue him_.

“I’m pretty sure you know what happened.”

“That I do. But I’m really not quite sure how that’s even _possible_.”

The boy shrugs, shyly staring at his lap. “No one does. Now, can you please leave?” He rolls his shoulders back and stares Magnus directly in the eyes. “Frankly, you being here is starting to make me uncomfortable.”

Magnus can’t help but smile. The stubbornness is cute. “Sure thing, pretty boy, but I’m coming back for you. It’s my job, after all.”

“I don’t need saving!” Alec shouts, but Magnus is already gone, the trapdoor shutting behind him. He breathes out. He needs a plan.


	3. Magnus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be the last part but I was just having so much fun writing this so I'm going to continue it until I get bored :D Comment what you think!

So, there’s a boy in the tower, that much Magnus knows. He also knows, against popular (his) belief and just about every cliche out there, that the boy doesn’t want to be saved. Or maybe that is the cliche. Goddamn modern storytelling, they always like to _twist_ things so now everything is a cliche! Magnus’ life’s a cliche! He sighs and stretches out on his sofa in a bad mimicry of Chairman Meow, his beautiful little tabby cat. Though Magnus hasn’t seen him in a while. Huh, how bizarre. Nothing to worry about, though, it happens from time to time.

It’s Friday and Magnus has made little progress from Sunday, tossing and turning over options but even he has to face up to the fact that he can’t kidnap a boy out of his prison; there’s a contradiction in there somewhere.

So, after five days of rumination and drinking, Magnus decides he only has one option left: he has to see the boy again. He cancels all previous plans, including a party that he has promised a rather important person he would attend, and does his best to look perfect. For a moment, he worries that sneaking into the Institute is a bad idea but then, he thinks, if he just portals straight into the boy’s room then no one can reach him, unless they had a ladder of their own tucked away somewhere where he couldn’t see. Then again, how _did_ they get food to him? Or let him go to the toilet. Or…well, anything.

Magnus is forced out of his thoughts by the buzzing of his phone. A message telling him that in no way shape or form can he miss this party. He smiles, opens a portal and walks straight into the boy’s room.

It’s midday and the sun still doesn’t capture the room, leaving it a dull grey. The boy, whatever his name is, is standing this time, gazing woefully out of the window as he folds himself over in an irritatingly beautiful stretch. “Well, hello again,” Magnus drawls, eyes skimming the boy from top to bottom, his eyes travelling over each and every feather of his wings, before letting them take in the rest of the room, the empty grandeur of it, from the impossibly tall ceilings to the nondescript furniture.

The boy jumps and barely manages to keep himself from falling over, clumsily catching himself on his hand before pushing himself to his feet. His wings bear down on his shoulders, like a heavy backpack and it seems to cause him great effort to bring himself up, despite his Shadowhunter strength.

“You,” he gasps, “how did you get in here?”

“A portal. You do know what those are, right?”

“Of course I know- I should not be talking to you.”

“Probably not, but what else do you have to do?”

“Training,” the boy responds automatically. A shame.

“Well, that sounds boring and I, for one, would much prefer to chat. After all, I am rather curious about all this.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” the boy repeats.

“No, I shouldn’t. But I wasn’t kidding about saving you. And, frankly, returning has once again reminded me that there’s no even a toilet in this room so I have no clue how the hell you are alive but-“

“I use my parents’ bathroom.”

“Wait, so you _can_ leave?” Magnus’ eyes are wide, the iris’ of his cat eyes a little more open.

“I can use their bathroom.”

“And…how is that?”

“Stop asking me questions.”

“I’m rather enjoying asking you questions.”

“Well, I’m not. You shouldn’t be here.” The boy turns around and returns back to staring sadly out of the window, blue eyes trailing over each skyscraper like its a gentle caress. Magnus recognises that look; the one of wistful hope that one day you might just get to be there, rather than watch it from afar. For a long time, he’d felt the same about humanity: it had given him his love for humans today.

“The thing is, I’m the High Warlock of Brooklyn,” he finally says, using the last of his leverage in this situation, “and it’s my job to protect warlocks, of which - I think - you are one. Right now, unless you can prove otherwise, I believed you are trapped here and have been manipulated into thinking you should stay, despite being very capable of leaving. I also know that you have runes, so you are a Shadowhunter too, meaning you probably are loyal to Clave, hence the not leaving. Am I getting close?”

“No.” His eyes say yes.

“Great! Then I think it’s time we go.”

“No.” This time, his eyes definitely do not say yes.

“Oh, come on. Please…what is your name anyway?”

“Alec.”

“Short for Alexander?” He gives a succinct nod. “Brilliant. Now, Alexander, please leave with me.”

“No.”

Magnus groans, flinging his hands up in the air. “You are impossible. Okay then, let’s do this another way.” He strides towards Alec’s dismal single bed and falls on top of it, wincing at the sharp springs and itchy sheets. As much as he is spoilt in luxury, he has lived through poverty and this somehow feels worse. Maybe decadence really has got to his head.

Alec looks like he’s about to _growl_ but doesn’t, eyeing Magnus carefully, not so subtly saying _get off my bed_. Magnus doesn’t. Despite this, he seems a lot more comfortable, enough for him to sit down in front of Magnus, wings folded neatly behind him. Maybe it was his title, or just his sheer stubbornness, but Alec seems to have given in to his presence, if not his demands.

“What are your abilities? Are they that of most warlocks?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m the High Warlock of Brooklyn, it’s my job.”

Alec grits his teeth but the repetition of his title seems to have drilled something into that thick skull. “Flight. Teleportation. Healing. But just those.”

Magnus nods thoughtfully. “The wings your only mark?”

Alec shakes his head. “The wings are the only permanent fixture but pretty much everything else changes too.”

“Interesting,” he hums, examining Alexander a little closer. “You can bear runes like any other Shadowhunter.”

“I can.”

“You really are a conundrum, aren’t you?” Alec just shrugs, his wings sweeping dust off the floor as he does. “You ever been taught magic, Alexander?”

“Alec.”

“ _Alexander_.” He sees the blush, there’s no way he’s stopping any time soon. “So?”

“No. But I’m good at teleporting. It’s how I get to my parents’ room. Can’t really practice flying in here that well.” Magnus understands; despite the incredibly high ceiling, his wingspan would mean he was touching either wall and it only narrows as you go up. “Or healing.”

“But you have before?”

“A bit. When I wasn’t up here. My parents didn’t want me to, though, so I only ever really did it with Izzy.”

“Izzy, she your sister?”

“Yeah. She…she thinks I’m dead. On the field, got an honourable funeral.”

Magnus’ response is as immediate as it is disgusted. “That’s awful. And to think you’re willing to let this happen. I don’t mean to push, Alexander, because I really don’t think it will work but you have to know that this isn’t okay. I can only make presumptions but being half-warlock is not enough to lock you away in this attic.”

“It’s to protect me,” Alec retorts, just as immediate.

“You can protect yourself. You have the strength of demons and angels in you. You could probably kill us all in a second. Whatever your parents have told you is a lie.”

“They want what’s best for me.”

“And what’s that? Locking you alone in this room, looking like-“ Magnus can’t even say it aloud, he doesn’t even like to think it. Alec is drawn out, pallid and almost jaundiced at the edges. His hair is messy and unkempt and his clothes are dirty and give off an almost abhorrent smell. “Like you’re dying, honestly. When was the last time you stepped outside? When was the last time you got to enjoy another person’s company, myself excluded?”

“They’re protecting me.”

“We’re going in circles.” Magnus stands up, his eyes uncharacteristically cold. Or maybe not so much. But he’s lived so much of his life with a false veneer of superfluous charm, to let the gravity that lingers beneath his skin out feels like he’s stripping himself bare. He approaches Alec step by step, each one a drawn-out warning. “What they’ve done isn’t right. Don’t you want to see your sister again? And there’s more than just your sister, isn’t there? The Lightwoods have another boy, don’t they? Or two. I have to admit, I don’t keep up with the affairs of Shadowhunters but word spreads quickly. Do you not want to see them?”

“I do,” he whispers, looking up at Magnus like a man praying.

“Then come with me. You’ll see them again. You can learn magic. You can be a real Shadowhunter. Just come with me.” Magnus holds his hand out and slowly, as timid as a tortured animal, Alec places his hand on top.

“Take me to them.”

“Your wish is my command.”


	4. Alexander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two in one day! God, I'm on a roll :D And it's a longer update at that!

The first time Alec travels through a portal, he thinks he’s going to be sick. He’s so used to just…being somewhere, that he’s never thought of the in-between for most people. Well, Magnus looks perfectly composed, as usual, which only makes Alec feel worse about the whole thing. “Sorry,” Magnus apologises immediately, “I didn’t think that your ability might be a lot different to a portal. It can make people travel sick the first few times. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alec breathes after a few, long seconds. He takes in a large gulp of air and tries to calm the palpitations of his heart. They’d landed somewhere entirely unfamiliar yet less imposing than anything Alec has witnessed before. The Institute is overbearing in its angel nature and his little attic room is oppressive in its size. This is…different. It’s open, bright and luxurious. The evening sun lights up the whole room at once, but there’s still an array of lamps on what feels like every surface. They’re in the entranceway and from here, Alec can only see the kitchen and living room but even he knows that there must be more.

Better than anything, though, is the balcony. He spots it almost immediately and despite the fact that the foreign environment should put every one of his guards up, he practically runs for it. Cautiously, he opens the large French doors and takes in gulps of New York air. It’s the freshest things he’s breathed in two years, which is ironic for all the dirt that’s probably in it.

Freedom, Alec thinks. This is freedom.

He doesn’t realise how much he wanted it until he suddenly has it, clutching to the pristine brickwork as his eyes take in the looming structures of Brooklyn. He’s in the buzz now, rather than staring from afar. Below, people shout and laugh and cry and for a moment, Alec just takes it all in.

“Alexander,” someone gasps from behind him and suddenly he’s distinctly aware of Magnus’ presence again. He turns around, shocked to see the awe in Magnus’ eyes until he looks down and…

Well, it’s one of those days, is it?

His skin shimmers with golden scales, trailing all the way up his arms and to his shoulders, where they come to an abrupt, shining stop. But Magnus’ isn’t staring at them. No, he’s staring behind him. Alec twists himself to look at them, bringing his wing up before his face and gasps.

This has never happened before.

His wings…they’re _gold_. Each feather has an iridescent shimmer, sparkling in the bright light (and isn’t Alec delighted that this place gets the afternoon sun).

“What about my eyes?” He asks curiously.

Magnus stares at him before a smile blooms over his lips and his eyes do a funny twitch that Alec can’t quite decipher. But that gaze…it’s something that he’s never experienced before. Something more than friendliness, it’s-

“Gold too.” Well, that’s two new things for the books.

“This has never happened before. Never gold. My wings have never even changed colour.”

“Faerie marks often reflect moods, though it is much less common for warlocks. But given your angelic and demonic heritage, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re much closer to a faerie than you might think. Though, really, it isn’t a surprise, you are as beautiful as one.” Alec feels the blush on his cheeks but forces himself to ignore it, instead staring at his wings again. “What are you feeling?”

“Free,” Alec breathes honestly, in a way that surprises himself. Two years of isolation really has brought out his honesty. Maybe it’s a little desperation; Alec can’t tell.

“Well then, we have cause to celebrate. How about a drink? Then we can figure out how we’re going to get to your siblings.”

“Sure.” Alec smiles shyly and follows Magnus back inside, staring wistfully at the vista before shutting the door just as carefully as he’d opened it. Magnus is quick to work, mustering two cocktails in seconds with a singular click, a flash of blue light lighting up Alec’s senses. “Wow,” he whispers quietly before taking the glass. “Do you think I’ll be able to do anything like that?”

“Well, maybe with a bit of training. Tessa Gray originally only had specific powers but she’s moved on a long way since then.”

“You know Tessa Gray?!” Alec asks ecstatically, so much so that he can almost ignore the pain of the drink going down his throat.

“She’s a friend.”

“Wow. She’s just…I didn’t know any warlocks growing up but I read up a lot about her and her…situation. She’s a hero.”

“I’m glad you think so. I think so too, in fact. Tessa is an amazing woman. You can be too, you know, your heritage doesn’t make you any less capable of being a hero.”

“I know,” Alec admits quietly, “I just feel like I’m so far behind everyone else. I haven’t trained with anyone else in years. I can’t-“

“Tessa didn’t find out about her powers until she was seventeen. I’m assuming you trained before you were moved to the attic. That probably puts you ahead of her.”

“Really?”

“I think so.” Alec smiles with a ferocity Magnus isn’t expecting. He tries to take another sip but this time, the strength hits and he can’t hold back a wince. “Not a cocktail fan?” Magnus inquires carefully.

“Never had a drink before,” Alec admits, a blush rising on his cheeks again.

“Oh yes! You’re underage. And, well, there was the whole tower thing too. Anything else you’d like instead?”

Alec is curious about alcohol, enough to ask for something weaker, to which Magnus procures him an IPA which Alec sips at slowly. The first isn’t great but it only takes a little while for him to start to enjoy the taste, froth covering his top lip. Magnus is smiling at him in that way that Alec can’t decipher but it warms his heart nonetheless. There’s an odd comfort here, one Alec wasn’t expecting.

“So, this is your apartment?”

“Of course. Wasn’t going to take you anywhere else.”

“It’s nice,” he compliments. They’re sitting on opposite sofas now, the silence barely uncomfortable. Alec is used to silence by now, even if Magnus is a lot more used to chatty people, superfluously vying for him.

“Thank you. I’ve had it for a long time now but I’ve made it home.” Alec wonders if he could ever could a place like this home, a place where he could have his own belongings, a place that felt truly his, that felt safe and warm and was adjusted so his wings didn’t hit everything in sight and he could have people over without being embarrassed.

“So,” Magnus finally continues, “we need to plan how we’re going to see your siblings. I’m presuming we won’t be welcomed into the Institute. Will your parents know you’re gone.”

“Not for a while. They’ll notice when the meals stop being taken.”

“Okay, so we can forget about that for the next while then. But I’m still thinking it’s best if you don’t show up at the Institute out of your room.”

“Well, I am supposedly dead.”

“Do you know any places your siblings frequent? Or even just one of them. If I can get one of them then that will lead us to the rest, I’d guess.”

“There’s Taki’s. They used to always go there after patrol. But it has been a long time…”

“It’s a start. What time does patrol end?”

“Usually after midnight.”

“Guess we have some time to waste then. How about a film?”

Alec looks startled but intrigued. “I’ve never actually watched a film before.”

“You haven’t?! Dear God, guess I’m going to have to make a good choice then. What genre? Action? Romance? Comedy?”

“Anything.”

“Fine, but if you hate it, don’t think that means you’ll hate all films.”

“I think I can do that.”

“Great. How about The Godfather?”

They end up watching all three.

~*~

At one in the morning, they wake up to the sound of Magnus’ phone alarm. Alec groans but doesn’t complain, already too anxious at the thought of seeing his siblings to care about the mundanities of normal life. Magnus, on the other hand, doesn’t seem too glad and seems even less glad when he notices he fell asleep on the sofa. “The things I do for people,” he mutters under his breath, causing a shy laugh to escape Alec’s lips. That seems to cheer Magnus up for the most part, who summons to coffees and offers one to Alec, silently gulping the caffeine down.

“Okay!” He breathes once he’s downed the last drop. “Let’s go.”

It doesn’t take long to get to Taki’s. Magnus helps Alec glamour his wings and portals them about three blocks away and then its Alec’s job to guide them to the little in-the-wall, Downworlder cafe. It’s shabby, run-down and exquisite all at the same time. It lets in anyone and everyone and is a bad rendition of a 50s diner, though it is a little too white to be classified as cheery. It’s stark yet still sells the best food in New York.

Alec peers around once they’re inside but he doesn’t recognise anyone with any resemblance to any of his siblings. He lets out a sigh that is both dejected and relieved. “They’re not here.”

“They still might come,” Magnus comforts, leading them to a table. “We can wait an hour and if they don’t show, then we’ll try again tomorrow. Unless there’s anywhere else to look?” Alec slides into the booth opposite Magnus and sighs. “I don’t think so. They’ll have changed so much, I just don’t know.”

There’s silence for a few moments before Magnus squints. “Are you comfortable?”

“Huh?”

“Your wings. Are they okay like this?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Alec assures. He’s folded his wings, back to their usual white, even if only for his own eyes to see, over his lap so they’re not crushed. They drag along the slightly dirty floor but the usual magic keeps them sparklingly clean. There’s still the fear of hygiene but Alec is almost sure he can’t catch normal illnesses.

Time moves slowly from then. Alec makes conversation with Magnus and finds himself entranced by the mysterious warlock yet he can’t help but glance every time someone enters, wondering whether he’ll finally get to see his sister again, or the brother that was meant to be his _parabatai_.

Magnus is halfway through regaling Alec of a story about an adventure in Peru when the door opens yet again. And, covered in ichor and indecent smiles, his two siblings walk in.

Alec’s hand immediately clutches the table, his knuckles turning white as he screams at Magnus through his eyes alone, before watching his siblings take a seat that seemed like a usual spot and order. Jace is ordering/flirting with the waitress Kaelie when Alec finally stands up. At the sound, Isabelle’s eyes dart to him and widen with recognition and fear.

“Alec?”

“Hi,” he breathes, unable to muster all the words he thought he would have to say. “You look older,” he says and immediately has the urge to hit himself. Of course she looks older, she _is_ older. She gapes at him and he gapes at her and it looks like two fish have escaped their tank. Jace gets up next, brushing past Kaelie, destroying all previous chances he had with her (if he hasn’t already had some), and stands in front of Alec like he’s about to challenge him to a duel. “You’re dead.”

“They lied.”

Jace frowns but things to click into place quickly. “Where did they hide you?”

“The attic.”

For just a moment, Jace joins the fish tank but as always, he’s the first to compose himself although he does it in the most unexpected move he could have. He hugs Alec. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Stop hogging him!” Isabelle shouts and joins the pile. They stay like that for far too long and Alec almost forgets about Magnus, still at their table, watching the group with shy affection. Almost.

“I’d like you guys to meet Magnus. He’s the one that saved me.”

“Finally! You accept it! I think that makes you a princess, princess,” he says with a flourishing wink.

“Magnus? As in Magnus Bane?” Isabelle asks.

“Ah, do my good looks precede me?”

“You’re the High Warlock of Brooklyn!”

“That I am. It was my duty to save Alexander from that dreaded tower. Good thing, too, the rats were starting to escape.”

“They were always there,” Alec deadpans.

“Exactly!” Isabelle snickers at Magnus’ theatrics and Alec can’t help but beam at how much his family is already warming to Magnus, though he doesn’t really understand why. For all he knows, after today, he’ll have little to nothing to do with Magnus at all. Then again, he does need to find somewhere to live in that case. His siblings still live in the Institute so he can’t exactly go with them. Even Jace is amused, though he’s a lot better at hiding it.

“Alexander!” Magnus suddenly gasps, eyes twinkling. Alec knows what that means now; he looks down at his skin, he’s scales are white this time, and he presumes his eyes are too. Peace. He’s at peace. Though he’s already been a little annoyed that his eyes look so scary when he feels so harmless. Not that it matters, though, when those who love him look at him like it doesn’t matter at all.

“For peace,” he explains, smiling shyly as a red blush creeps up his cheeks, so startlingly contrasting to his white skin.

“Well then, sounds great. Why don’t you sit down? There must be a lot to catch up on. I’ll just-“

“Stay. You saved me. You should be here for this.”

“Oh, well, if you’re sure-“

“Yeah, join us, I can’t just _not_ talk to someone who clearly has as good a dress sense as you do,” Isabelle teases. Jace says nothing, but as he enters the booth, he leaves a wide berth for Magnus to sit down in. It says it all really.

“Well, I do look rather dashing today, don't I?”


	5. Alexander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Hope you guys enjoy :D Was a bit down on inspiration yesterday so finished this one off today so I can start a new project. It's a new aim of me because I really need to stop making WIPs and just write short things and finish them. 
> 
> Thanks for all your lovely comments and kudos!!!
> 
> -fouryearslater

“Are you sure you can’t come back with us?” Isabelle asks, eyes crinkling in the corners. The sun is starting to rise in the sky and early morning patrons are starting to seep through Taki’s doors. Kaelie is finishing up her shift, hanging up the apron on a peg behind the till and clocking in her hours.

“I don’t want mum and dad to find out. They’ll know soon anyway but…I want to hold that off. And…don't tell them where I am?”

“We would never,” Jace promises, eyes strangely fierce. There’s no jokes, no snide remarks and it feels more sincere than anything Jace has ever said before. It breaks Alec’s heart in two.

What have his parents done to their family?

“Thank you. I’ll meet you here on Sunday? Hopefully I’ll have a phone by then. And then we can-“

“Take my number,” Magnus interrupts, placing a gentle hand on Alec’s arm. “Then we can stay in touch until Alec gets a phone.”

Isabelle smiles brightly. “Sounds great. Don’t be a stranger.” Alec waves at them as they bustle out the doors to go back to the Institute, where they have prepared to tell them of a demon nest that kept them out longer than expected. Plenty of patrons of the New York Institute are aware of Isabelle and Jace’s ‘activities’ after midnight, but they still like to weave lies; a Shadowhunter’s reputation is paramount above all. And no matter how little they pretend to care, both of them are desperate to be the best: perfect soldiers.

“Thanks for this,” Alec says to Magnus. “You didn’t need to.”

“Like I said,” Magnus says with a shrug, “it’s my job.” Alec doesn’t believe that for a second; Magnus has gone far beyond what’s necessary to fulfil his duties. It makes Alec’s heart flutter and a small smile penetrate his lips. “Now, let’s go home. We need to get you sorted out. First step, a phone.”

Alec smiles wider. “Sounds great.”

~*~

Of course, they never have time to sort everything out. Clary Fray comes into the mix far before that. According to Jace, she shows up at a club where he and Izzy are hunting an Eidolon demon and starts screaming at what’s going on. Because this is Jace, he’s immediately enraptured and Izzy is blasé enough to let it happen. Then everything goes to shit, as it always does.

Alec is still a little blurry on the details that got them to this position but he’s not sure if that’s what really matters, not as Clary Fray - a very short, ginger mundane - tries to intimidate Magnus Bane - six-foot, glittery warlock. Alec almost has the urge to laugh but he holds it back. Under the dancing lights of Magnus’ party, the pair are trapped in a sea of red, Magnus’ face sneering whilst Clary’s is dead set with determination.

“You took my memories,” she accuses, pointing a finger at Magnus’ very sparkly chest.

“Yes, I did. At your mother’s request,” Magnus responds reasonably, although he’s clearly bristling beneath the surface. Clary may be a mundane but she’s showing every bit of entitlement of her Nephilim ancestry.

Alec is hidden away, his wings grab too much attention, especially at a Downworlder gathering like this, but he’s still in the room, watching from afar. Magnus knows where he is and he’s sure Jace will have clocked him by now, although Isabelle’s eyes are still roaming the teeming dance-floor. The darkness of his spot hides the dull shine of his wings, meaning only a pair of sparkling blue eyes gleam in the shadows. It’s unsettling enough that no one approaches him, for which Alec is glad.

“I gave them away,” Magnus is saying, drawing Alec’s attention back in.

“To who?!”

“A memory demon,” he shrugs. “There’s no getting them back now.”

“We can summon the demon,” Jace interrupts, “barter for them back.”

“Well you _could_ but I’m not helping in an event that suicidal, even for myself.”

“You have to be able to do something,” Jace pleads, and Alec is suddenly aware just how gone he is for this girl.

“I can’t-“

“I might be able to,” Alec blurts, a thought appearing at the forefront of his mind in a terrifying burst. It’s a vision, gleaming as bright as an angels mark. In it, he sees a specific set of instructions, a pathway to returning what has been lost. “You said I might be able to do more than I first said,” he says to Magnus, “I think you’re right.”

“The memories are gone, Alexander.”

“Just let me try.”

Magnus sighs, pursing his lips for a moment before he nods. “We’ll try,” he capitulates, “ _upstairs_.” Clary seems lost for a moment, taken aback by the change in events but even if she has no idea who Alec is, she seems glad for the help.

They all make their way upstairs, into the now-familiar space of Magnus’ loft, and Alec hears a cacophony of gasps behind him. Alec turns to see the shocked looks on his siblings’ faces, as well as Clary’s. “Your wings,” Isabelle gasps, reaching out, “I haven’t seen them in so long.”

“But Taki’s…”

“They were glamoured, Alexander,” Magnus reminds, “I could see them with effort because I was the one that did the glamour but your siblings wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Oh.”

Isabelle’s hands are hovering inches away and he moves his wing into her hand, letting her fingers sink into the impossibly soft feathers. “They’re beautiful.” They’re white today, and his skin is plain, but there’s an itch behind his eyes that suggests his eyes might be changing. “What colour are my eyes?” He asks, blinking rapidly.

Isabelle peers up and lets out another shocked gasp, so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear it. “Red. Is that new?”

He blinks. “Yeah. Haven’t…well, it seems I can do a lot more than I thought.” He sees Magnus look at him but he pointedly doesn’t ask what the red represents. They both know that it’s nothing good.

“Who are you?” Clary Fray finally asks, cutting through the silence.

“This is Alec, our brother,” Jace states proudly, though he clearly can’t resist tacking on, “the less beautiful one.” Alec is surprised to see Clary give Jace a confused look; it’s probably the closest anyone has ever gotten to calling Jace ugly, or at least less beautiful. Alec’s heart drums wildly. Is this what having a heart attack feels like? Maybe.

Magnus scoffs and suddenly Alec’s heart rate doubles. “Pretty boy over here is far more beautiful than you.” He tries to distract himself by staring at the drapes, counting each unending fold like his life might depend on it. He’s never really been called beautiful before.

And the first time he is, it’s because of his wings.

There’s still a thought in the back of his mind that he should return to the Institute, lock himself in his room so he can be safe, so other’s can be safe from _him_. But seeing the awe on his siblings’ face, on Magnus’s face, on _Clary’s_ , it’s like something has awoken in him. Magnus may have saved him from his prison, but his mind has finally set him free.

“Your eyes, they’re changing again.” Alec blinks a few times, feels the heavy pressure of the shift and decides to go to the nearest mirror in the study. It’s ornate and large; Alec can see his entire body, yet it’s his eyes he’s staring at again.

He’d thought they were gold yesterday. He’d been wrong. His eyes are like starlight, shining brightly even in the unlit room. It’s like powdered glitter in his irises burning as bright as they are beautiful. He’s fascinated.

He’d thought he’d known what freedom was yesterday. He’d been wrong.

Alec gasps this time, his fingers trailing along the dark circles under his eyes, so stark against his newly shining irises. “They’re…”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen my words have such an effect before.” Alec blushes down to his toes as he sees Magnus crowding the doorway, glad that his siblings have stayed back in the living room.

“We need to help Clary,” he blurts, the red deepening to a worrying shade of maroon. Magnus doesn’t seem to mind, spreading his arm open wide and letting Alec past, following close behind him. “Sorry,” Alec mutters as soon as he enters the room again, keeping a close eye on his siblings. He’s barely seen them in the last two years but he remembers what they’re like.

Well, Isabelle, really. Jace’s comments have always been about girls. Alec never got the chance to tell him otherwise. He doesn’t even know if he still can. Deep down, he knows it’s wrong but the isolation of the last two years makes that feel inconsequential. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s what Shadowhunters told him, what his _parents_ told him, that makes it matter so little to him. Or maybe it’s just every time he looks at Magnus.

“Let’s get on with this. Clary,” he announces, “I think I can bring your memories back but it’s going to be the first time I’ve tried this spell and I’m quite…new to magic. But I think I can do it.” Clary rolls her shoulders back and stares him in the eye. For the first time, Alec respects her, standing strong in the face of adversity. “I want to try.”

“Okay, sit down. Magnus, where’s best?”

“Balcony. If this goes wrong, I don’t want my apartment to explode.”

Alec reels back. “Will it?”

“Not on my watch. Don’t worry, if anything goes wrong, I’ll do everything in my power to reverse it. I may not be powerful enough to get Clary’s memories back but I’m powerful enough to keep new warlocks from firing off dangerous spells.”

“Okay then. Outside it is.”

They trail outside together, his siblings gathered at one side whilst Magnus and Alec prepare on the other. Magnus takes him through a series of preparations; breathing techniques, hand gestures, everything. Clary stands somewhere in the middle, staring forlornly at both groups like she doesn’t know which one to approach. It doesn’t matter, in the end. Alec holds out his hand for her and says “it’s time.” She nods seriously and sits opposite him, her hands fluttering nervously around her knees like she doesn’t quite know where to place them.

“I’m going to put my hands on your head.” She nods again. Her reaches forwards, frail hands trembling, his skin is turning redder by the second, shimmering, almost invisible scales trailing up his arms. He whispers the incantation, letting the words rise from his hearts and pour from his mouth; he knows he’s not in control any longer but he doesn’t care. The magic is safe, warm and tastes of every bit of freedom he’s ever wanted. It’s like release. It pours from his hands and when he opens his eyes, he realises it really is. The molten gold surrounds Clary’s head, gathering at small points where it’s trying to bring memories to the surface. He sees none of them but he can feel the traces of them; it makes him push further, the small clusters turning to lumps as they gather information like a data chip.

“Alec stop.” He pulls away in a blink. “You’ve retrieved all of them.”

“How do you know?” He whispers, his head spinning with belligerent dizziness.

“I’ve been doing magic a long time, Alexander, it’s just intrinsic to me now. Including when to stop.” He nods and falls backwards, surprised by the feeling of a steady body behind him, the slow beat of a warlock heart. “Magnus,” he whispers and promptly passes out.

~*~

He wakes up in red silk sheets. The sun is gone, replaced by a full moon so bright that it stings almost as much. Alec groans, spreading his limbs out in a bad imitation of a starfish. “You’re awake,” a voice says from the doorway.

“Huh?”

“You passed out, Alexander. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

“W-why am I in your room?”

“We tried to put you in your own room and…well, let’s just say your magic wasn’t done playing yet. Not surprising, with how long you’ve kept most of it dormant. You’re powerful, Alexander, this is going to take a lot of practice to master.”

“I’ve got the rest of my life to learn.”

“A long one at that, if you’re anything like Tessa.” It dawns on Alec then, the possibility of forever, the dangerous cloud of uncertainty and fear. He doesn’t want to die but the knowledge that he’ll lose everything, that he’ll-

“Don’t think about it. It’ll only hurt you. I’m sorry for mentioning it.” Alec’s surprised by Magnus’ sincerity. Since he’s met him, Magnus has been jokes and laughter. For the most part anyway. This feels new. It’s like a quiet storm, brewing and brewing until eventually, it rains down hell.

“It’s fine.”

Magnus pads gently over the carpet, taking a place on the bed next to Alexander, looking down at him with worried eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d be alright,” he admits. “In your room, it was bad. It took a lot to contain it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’ve done amazing things. Clary has all her memories back. How did you know the spell?”

“It just…came to me.”

“A message from the angels,” Magnus whispers, his hand drifting closer to Alec. For a moment, Alec thinks he should push it away but he can’t. Tempting fate, he draws his own hand closer. Magnus is still sitting, placing him far too far away from Alec but he takes the opportunity to intertwine their fingers. “Alec,” Magnus whispers softly, cat eyes looking soft in the moonlight. This moment is like a beautiful secret, intimate in ways Alec has never known.

“Magnus,” he whispers back and he knows this is it. There’s pressure in his eyes and there’s a glow that starts to fill the room. “You’re wings,” Magnus gasps, like each shift still takes him by surprise. The white isn’t stark, it’s angel, flooding the room with unbridled beauty.

Alec can’t help it; he tugs Magnus down into a kiss.


End file.
